I don’t
recall any arcane footpaths
to seaside dunes, or twilight pressed back by
the drippings from distant luminaries.
Yet, I was there tonight.
Line after line:
smoke curled from between your still lips, gray
spirals,
languid in their pursuit of nothing,
and moon shadows draped over delicate
sails...skiffs bringing back long forgotten wealth.
The smooth
metered syllables are not lost
on me, although those moments may be grains
of sand
trapped inside your memory, rubbed
the right way, a gritty recollection
of past splendors. I may never travel
along the white cliffs and
beaches of the
Côte d'Azur, but I’ve been there, with you.
